


'Je ne parle what?'

by unsettled



Category: Sherlock Holmes (2009), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Community: sherlockkink, French, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-22
Updated: 2010-06-22
Packaged: 2017-10-10 05:34:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/96140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsettled/pseuds/unsettled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watson wishes Holmes wouldn't make fun of him in French.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'Je ne parle what?'

**Author's Note:**

> Since there was an explosion of prompts for Holmes speaking French over at the kink meme, I started writing something, even though I speak ZERO French. I mean, ZERO.
> 
> Originally stuck together using google's translator, until a wonderful anon came along and changed a few things.
> 
> English is at the end.

"Elle est belle, je t'accordera that."

Watson looked up. "What?"

"Cependant," Holmes continued, "Ce n'est guère une raison suffisante de l'épouser"

"Holmes," Watson sighed. "Are you actually talking to me, or just muttering to yourself? You know I don't understand French."

Holmes shot him a sidelong glance. "Vous ne me comprenez pas? Pas même un petit peu? Voyons Watson, vous avez sûrement rencontré des français dans l'armée."

"No, I don't understand you."

"Ah, but you just admitted you did!"

"Holmes, my French consists entirely of 'Je ne parle pas le français'!" and he returned to his paper, scowling.

Holmes watched him for several moments. "Vous n'avez aucun besoin de s'inquiéter. Je ne dis rien important."

Watson's shoulders tensed, but he simply narrowed his eyes, glaring at the paper as though it had offended him.

"Comme je l'ai dit, Marie est tout à fait charmant. Comme vous êtes. Je suis sûre que tu aurais jolie petits bébés," and the thought twists Holmes' mouth. "Bien sûr, vous n'avez jamais semblé remarquer votre propre beauté. Vous savez ce que j'aime le mieux, je crois? Tes yeux. Ils sont une nuance que je n'ai jamais rencontrés auparavant. Je crois qu'ils mai être l'ombre de la mer au large de la côte de l'Italie, mais que la mémoire est parfois floue. Ou peut-être que j'aime tes lèvres mieux. Tu ne comprends toujours pas moi? "

"Did you say something about the sea just then?"

"Mm." Holmes' eyes had half shut. "Savez-vous ce que je voudrais faire pour vos lèvres? Je tiens à goûter vos lèvres. Pour les toucher, de les ouvrir avec le mien, pour vous laisser tout essoufflé. Oh, de voir vos yeux voltigeant sur le bord de la négritude, vos lèvres rouge et enflée, tendre, d'entendre ce que les sons que vous faites lorsque je te touche. Je vais apprendre de vous avec autant de dévouement autant que je donne la cendre. Je voudrais faire un livre d'entre vous à mémoriser, je donnerais plus de l'espace précieux à la connaissance de ce qui va vous faire gémir, et la torsion, et prie, et où sera-vous faire haleter, vous fera venir, ce qui va vous faire perdre le contrôle . Ah, Watson," and Watson's eyes shifted up, drawn at his name in a sea of French, "Je donnerais n'importe quoi pour te garder ici. Ne cherchez pas à cette femme stupide, sûrement je peux réaliser tous vos besoins? Qu'est-ce qui doit vous lier à moi pour toujours? Resterez-vous si je vous laisse me baiser? Allez-vous rester si je renonce à mon cocaïne? Resterez-vous si je vous dis Je t'aime? Permettez-moi d'essayer, Je t'aime, John Watson. Ne me quitte pas, parce que je ne serai pas capable de me garder de la destruction sans vous. Je t'aime ... "

Watson is before him now, kneeling down so their faces are on level, stopping his words with the expression on his face, and Holmes' breath has frozen in his lungs. He is appalled at himself for taking such a risk, and is already forming the words to turn it into a joke as Watson speaks.

"I think I understood that last bit," he said, slowly. "Je t'aime," and he takes a breath. "I love you," Watson says, and it is not a question, but "Do you, Holmes?" is, and for a moment he cannot find the words.

"Yes," he says, and that is all he can say, and as Watson's lips come to meet his, it seems he has found something that will make John Watson stay.

 

 

*  
What is he saying?  
*

"She is lovely, I will grant you that."

Watson looked up. "What?"

"However", Holmes continued, "That is hardly a good enough reason to wed her."

"Holmes," Watson sighed. "Are you actually talking to me, or just muttering to yourself? You know I don't understand French."

Holmes shot him a sidelong glance. "You don't understand me? Not even a little bit? Come now Watson, surely you encountered some French in the military."

"No, I don't understand you."

"Ah, but you just admitted you did!"

"Holmes, my French consists entirely of 'I do not speak French'!" and he returned to his paper, scowling.

Holmes watched him for several moments. "You have no need to worry. I am not saying anything important."

Watson's shoulders tensed, but he simply narrowed his eyes, glaring at the paper as though it had offended him.

"As I said, Mary is quite lovely. As are you. I am sure you would have lovely little babies," and the thought twists Holmes' mouth. "Of course, you have never seemed to notice your own appeal. You know what I like best, I think? Your eyes. They are a shade I have never encountered before. I believe they may be the shade of the sea off the coast of Italy, but that memory is sometimes hazy. Or maybe I like you lips best. You still do not understand me?"

"Did you say something about the sea just then?"

"Mm." Holmes' eyes had half shut. "Do you know what I would like to do to your lips? I would like very much to taste them. To touch them, to open them with my own, to leave you utterly breathless. Oh, to see your eyes fluttering on the edge of blackness, your lips swollen red, tender, to hear what sounds you make when I touch you. I would learn you with as much dedication as I give the ashes. I would make you a tome to memorize, I would give precious space over to the knowledge of what will make you moan, and twist, and beg, and where will make you gasp, will make you come, what will make you come undone. Oh, Watson," and Watson's eyes shifted up, drawn at his name in a sea of French, "I would give anything to keep you here. Do not look to that stupid woman; surely I can fulfill your every need? What is it that will bind you to me forever? Will you stay if I let you fuck me? Will you stay if I give up my cocaine? Will you stay if I tell you I love you? Let me try; I love you, John Watson. Do not leave me, because I will not be able to keep myself from destruction without you. I love you…"

Watson is before him now, kneeling down so their faces are on level, stopping his words with the expression on his face, and Holmes' breath has frozen in his lungs. He is appalled at himself for taking such a risk, and is already forming the words to turn it into a joke as Watson speaks.

"I think I understood that last bit," he said, slowly. "Je t'aime," and he takes a breath. "I love you," Watson says, and it is not a question, but "Do you, Holmes?" is, and for a moment he cannot find the words.

"Yes," he says, and that is all he can say, and as Watson's lips come to meet his, it seems he has found something that will make John Watson stay.


End file.
